


Northern Reunion

by mgsmurf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/M, First Kiss, Season/Series 07, Secret Santa, clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgsmurf/pseuds/mgsmurf
Summary: Jaime Lannister has gone north to Winterfell, although his reunion with Brienne of Tarth is not quite what either of them desire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hardlyfatal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/gifts).



> Belated Secret Santa gift. Hardlyfatal gave me the words yearning, oblivious and lonely. My mind jumped to a season 7 continuation reunion of JB. Sorry for the late arrival. Hopefully this meets what you wanted, hardlyfatal. And Happy Holidays!

Brienne thought it was even worst having Ser Jaime Lannister near at Winterfell than it had been to assume never seeing him again. At the least when he had been away it had been easier to pine after him with the knowledge he would never be hers. But to have him near, to have his companionship and nothing further despite her desires was certainly worst. 

“And again.” Brienne strolled to the other side of the sparing field. As dark fell, always earlier and earlier, the slush beneath her lined boots began to freeze. She easily raised her blunted practice sword.

Jaime puffed out a sigh that frosted before his face in the chilling weather. A light snow of fluffy flakes floated to the ground. His cheeks were rosy, from both the cold and the exertion. He insisted that they do these practice sessions at night, after his duties with the war council ended, when few would be around in the cold to watch him fumble.

He raised his own practice sword. It wobbled a moment in his tired arm. He had relearned the movements of fighting for his left hand, and he still had good instincts, yet he held little of the grace and ease she had once fought against. Her words afterward had been true, she had been unimpressed then with the “kingslayer's” ability. Yet, hands bound, weakened from a year in captivity, it had still been a sight to see him fight. A great thing had been taken away from him with his hand. Brienne shrugged off the thoughts and took a step into their next round. Best to think of what remained than what was lost. So much more would be lost before the battle with the undead was done for good or ill. 

Jaime used a dirty trick to strike a good blow, and for a moment he almost had the fight. Brienne quickly reacted and with one broad move had Jaime on his ass in the freezing slush. “Again,” she said. 

“Fuck you, wench.” Yet, Jaime rose again on unsteady legs and raised his sword. 

Brienne had not realized how lonely she had been before Ser Jaime Lannister had come north with no army, no house and no family he said he desired. She and Sansa had gotten along but never been truly friendly. While Brienne admired Arya for her abilities and they often sparred together, the younger Stark sister seemed emotionally too broken for friendship. Brienne had taken to a comfortable relationship with Sandor Clegane, of all people, yet again it was not truly friendship. Jaime Lannister, however, was a friend, and she knew he thought the same of her. 

“Again.” Brienne wondered if perhaps this time Jaime would remain down, state they should go in from the cold for dinner. Jaime stood and readied himself. 

Often, Brienne wondered if Jaime's friendship and means of driving away her loneliness was worth how it hurt to yearn for him in secret. Frost forming in his thickening beard, a sneer on his chapped lips, flakes covering his longer gray streaked hair, and he was still the most handsome man she knew. She saw how the women of Winterfell mooned over him, how the serving wenches flirted, how even the ladies like Sansa watched him with interest. It would be only a matter of time before Jaime got over his sister and took one or many of them into his bed. He most certainly did not want a large muscular woman like herself for anything but friendship and her skill in training him at the sword. 

Jaime would never be the warrior he had once been, yet he still had skills to give the war effort. He knew armies, was good at strategy, his suggestions as surprising as some of his father had been, although never as ruthless or heartless. Ser Jaime had the ear of his brother, even if they were cold to each other. He and the King of the North had reached a good standing and Jon Snow listened closely to Jaime's council. Somehow as a hated Lannister and southerner, Jaime had still gained the confidence of most of the common soldiers. He listened to them, remembered about their families and lives and genuinely seemed to care. 

“Enough.” Jaime slammed his sword into the wooden rack, rattling the other practice swords. A sprinkling of snow sloughed off. “Least I risk losing the few fingers remaining to me.” He blew warm air into his balled fist.

Brienne nodded and gently placed back her own sword. They trudged in silence toward the dinning hall. A trencher of food and mug of dark northern ale quickly appeared before Jaime as they sat at the far side of the hall. Two serving girls, Brienne thought she recognized, seemed to fight over his affection tonight. It rose jealousy in Brienne even if Jaime paid them no mind. 

It was finally over with Cersei, for good he had told her. Though, he had mentioned little else of why he had come north alone, or of why he had finally come to realize his twin and lover's mistreatment of him. 'Everyone grows up, eventually,' Lord Tyrion had said to her the one time she had dared ask the Queen's Hand about it. 

A raven had managed to brave the cold winds to bring Jaime word from Queen Cersei the other week. Whatever she had written worried him, and Jaime had finally, when asked, told her of the babe his former lover might carry. Oh, he said it was likely a lie and manipulation, and Brienne hoped Jaime was correct about such. Still, the fact that there could be another child, that he had still loved and lain with his twin less than half a year hence was more reasons why after such beauty Jaime would never truly want Brienne as such. 

#

“You loved your children though?” Brienne asked, her pale, plain face stoically honest. 

They were only ever his when Cersei asked him to do harm for their sake. “They were never mine to love,” he gave his stock reply. Not that he did not note she had called them his, as if it were normal that they should be thought of as such, his not Cersei's. Brienne who more than anyone accepted him for his past with no judgment. 

“Yet you still loved them.” Not a question this time, a statement of something even Jaime was uncertain he wanted to admit to himself. How much he might have loved Mycella and Tommen, perhaps even Joffery, how much he had truly lost in their deaths. 

He frowned. “They're dead. It matters not.” Still his heart ached a bit at the thought. And what of the babe possibly growing in Cersei now? He pushed that thought away, reassuring himself it was a lie to manipulate him into remaining at her side. 

Brienne frowned back at him, but remained silent. She might be the only friend he had left in the world. Or at least the only one who was not blood, since Tyrion considered them friends. Jaime himself wasn't sure he would ever forgive his little brother, despite loving him. 

When he had finally made his way north, through the ruins of the Riverlands and across the neck, it had been Brienne who stood up for him. Ramrod straight, chin lifted, Lady Brienne, heir of Tarth, vouched for his honor. She explained to Daenerys why he had killed the Mad King. She told Jon Snow how Jaime had sent her to find his half sisters and been the reason Sansa had been saved from the Boltons. She spoke of how they needed a man of his means to help in the war, spoke of his skills beyond swordsmanship. 

Before Jaime had to find another subject to speak of, Clegane clanged his mug of ale down on the table beside Jaime. “Kingslayer,” Sandor Clegane huffed at Jaime. “Lady Brienne.” He actually dipped his head to the warrior woman across from him. Jaime should be upset about that, about the title given only to Brienne. 

“Hound,” Jaime replied. 

Clegane, in usual fashion, started in on a rant of something or other, full of more bad language than complaints. Brienne nodded along adding a few well timed words of wisdom and insight.

Truth was Jaime was jealous of the casualness Clegane had with Brienne. Just like Jaime was a bit jealous of the wilding who seemed to have a crush on her, even if Brienne herself had only ever strongly denied the man. He had been truthful, if sparse, about Cersei to Brienne. He had even finally told her about the possibility of the babe Cersei might carry. Why would she want him after such. 

Oh, Jaime knew how despised he was as a Lannister, and not without cause, even if Jaime by his own hand had harmed only one Stark. The wildings were even worst. Jaime had heard their new term for him, sister fucker, said behind his back, spit out with visceral disgust. It was not like he could deny it. The old words he and Cersei had told each other about the Targaryens marrying brother to sister for generations falling flat now to his ears.

Brienne finally silenced Clegane's ranting. Clegane ribbed Jaime's side. “What are you brooding about now?” the large man asked. 

“Brooding?” Jaime cocked his head and tried to look dismissive, failing at properly schooling his features. What do I not have to brood about? he wished to say. 

“You're fucking glum for a Lannister.” Clegane took a deep swallow of his ale. Jaime might actually like the man Sandor Clegane had remade himself into. Odd where they both were today, versus where they had been the last time both had been in Winterfell. 

Clegane's wounded side of his face was turned toward Jaime, the melted flesh glistened a bit in the dim candle light of the hall. They were all freaks, wounded and ugly Clegane, abnormally tall and mannish Brienne, hand-less and crippled Jaime. 

“You're rather kind and caring for a Clegane,” Jaime countered. Not that the Hound had ever been heartless, just a tool of Cersei and Tywin, never such a monster of a man as his brother. 

Clegane snorted at that. He downed the last of his ale. “Got fucking guard duty tonight. Freeze my fucking balls off.” He shoved back from the table. 

“Talk to the King about it.” Brienne's voice spoke reason, her chin tilted up. 

“Fucking bastard king.” Clegane shook his head. “That's your fucking advice?” He sighed at Brienne, shook his head again. “Kingslayer,” he said dipping his head to Jaime as he turned to leave. 

“Hound.” Brienne had repeatedly informed Jaime that Clegane using the moniker was not out of disrespect. Jaime didn't use 'hound' out of disrespect either. It was a reminder to both of them who they had been, who they did not want to be again. 

He and Brienne finished up their meals and ale in comfortable silence. He longed for these moments, when he could be himself. 

Jaime knew he would never meet another person who completed him as well as Brienne did. Even Cersei had never done such. He was not certain when he had fallen in love with her? Harrenhal perhaps, when she'd left Kings Landing? He knew when he finally admitted it to himself, as he waved goodbye to her again on the walls of Riverrun. 

He was a damaged man though, beyond being a kingslayer, oathbreaker, sister fucker. Thinking back on his relationship with Cersei now, Jaime knew what ill it had done him. Everything he knew of relations between a man and woman wwas flawed, wrong. Whyever would Brienne ever want such a man?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard times and a close calls brings about realizations and confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this finishing chapter took a bit to get done. Assume a bit of a time jump. And since this builds on the first part the given words aren't all that included, which hopefully works.

_Had she beaten it, a white walker?_ the thought echoed in Brienne's mind as the world tilted and went fuzzy. She felt cold, thread-bare and exhausted. 

“Brienne.” Jaime's voice held such desperation it tugged Brienne's eyes to him. He rushed forward and slid across the snow to land beside her. 

_I just need some rest, good ser_ , she wanted to say, but no words left her shivering lips. 

“Don't you die on me, you stubborn wench. Don't you dare.” Jaime cradled her head and his touch burned like fire. “Get a maester,” Jaime lifted his head to yell at the crowd that loomed above. 

“Don't you dare die on me, Brienne, because none of it matters without you,” Jaime seemed to whisper as the world finally faded to black. 

#

Brienne woke as dawn light flickered through the paned window. _Dawn, how long had it been since she had seen dawn?_ Ser Jaime sat in the only chair in her small room. His regal profile looked out the window. Sunlight glinted off the gray at his temples and speckled throughout his beard. _A god_ , she thought. 

“Jaime.” Her soft voice creaked.

Jaime turned to her. “Gods be good.” He shifted the chair closer and his hand reached out to encase hers laid upon a fur blanket. 

“Did I defeat him?” 

“Who?” Jaime furrowed his brow. 

“The white walker,” Brienne somehow managed through her rough throat, though the sound came out more a croak than words. 

“Don't speak.” Jaime shook his head and sighed. “Stupid, stubborn woman,” he muttered. “Of course you defeated the bloody white walker. You're one of the best swordsman in the realm, wielding one of the best swords. Not that you should have risked your life for such.” He frowned. 

Brienne blinked. What better death of a warrior than in fighting an evil that threatened the realm. She took a tiny sip of the water and glanced out the window. How many long months had they fought with so little pause? Yet, she heard no battle now, no shouts or war machines. 

Jaime looked over his shoulder. “The army of the dead has pulled back for now, and so the days have returned. Only a reprieve.” They would be back in more force, he left unspoken. 

“But, a victory.” Her voice still felt meek and her body weak. Still, she had played a part in that victory, in the needed reprieve. 

Jaime leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “At what cost? You almost died, Brienne.” 

She nodded. Something in his concerned look made her breath catch. 

He pinched together his lips, shook his head again. “Fucking honorable or not, dead is dead.”

“Who would have carried as such?” Her words a whisper. Her father far away might. Here they would morn the lost of her swordsmanship, but what else? In the moment, she had only seen an enemy she could help destroy and moved to do so. In truth, she had not thought of honor. Although, she also had not thought of her death. 

“Who?” Jaime shoved back his chair to stand. He flayed, a lion among wolves, an angry sneer upon his face. Brienne found herself pulling back. “None of it fucking matters, not even winning, without you. Don't you know that you large, slow woman?” He stalked closer. “I love you. I'm yours, my heart and soul and sword.” He shook his head, his sneer fading to sadness. Brienne's breath caught in her chest. 

“You're all I have left, Brienne.” Jaime fell to his knees beside the bed. “My everything.” His hand again held hers, his head bowed above their joined hands.

Brienne could feel his tears upon her hand. She paused, her heart hammering. How could she have gotten it all so wrong? Why had he never said anything before this moment?

“Love?” she finally managed to ask.

“Of course.” Jaime furrowed his brow. “As you love me.”

_As she...?_ Jaime Lannister loved her and he knew that she loved him. Brienne frowned, blinked, tightened her jaw to keep her chin from wobbling. “Since when?”

Jaime's gaze lifted up to her face, his body still knelt beside her. “Since Harrenhal, mayhaps.” He shrugged. “Although I did not know until Riverrun, did not fully know about your feelings until Winterfell.”

Harrenhall? He had loved her since then? She almost blushed at the memory of them together in the bath, at the memory of his naked flesh against her own. She herself had first realized she loved Jaime when Queen Cersei had stated such to her at King Joffery's wedding. 

“I'm an old crippled warrior without a family or even keep.” He frowned. “And you are a lady, an heir.”

Brienne shook her head. This gorgeous godlike man before her should be Lord Lannister, he should be Lord Commander of the largest army in the realm. “None of that matters now.” For it did not. What did it matter she might be heir to Tarth if they might not live to see any future. 

“And love...” He rose and shifted himself backwards to sit again in his chair. “I know little of the good in love.”

Brienne knew a little about his relationship with Cersei, about his lover's power over him, about his un-returned loyalty, about the almost abuse. “I am not her.” Somehow her voice was steady. 

Jaime puffed a sigh. “You, us, are nothing like such, true.” He tilted his head. “You know me, Brienne, you complete me. How is it my own twin never did so as you can?”

Brienne did not have an answer to such, did not truly want to think about who Jaime had thrown his life away for. 

“And what do we do now?” Brienne asked. _Jaime Lannister loved her_ , still echoed through her head. 

“I don't mean to dishonor you without vows, if such is the worry.” The lust in his eyes at his words and thoughts of such took her breathe and rose a bright blush to her cheeks. In dark, lonely nights, such thoughts had certainly come to her as well. 

“It is not,” she finally squeaked out. 

“It need change nothing,” Jaime said. “Just promise me, Brienne, you will not die. That alone will be enough.”

Brienne frowned. Were they then instead to go back to how they had been? The thought of the loneliness sunk a pit in her stomach. How much worse it would be now that she knew they shared feelings? Yet, did she mean to wed this man? She had long given up on ever wedding, long told herself she did not need such, ever. She shook her head. She would not go back to what they had been, even if what they might be scared her worst than the white walker she had faced. 

Brienne leaned forward, wincing at the pain. She reached out, grabbed hold of Jaime's thick woolen tunic and pulled him towards her. Jaime fumbled with his gold hand to not fall upon her. And then they were face to face, his breath warm upon her cheeks, her hand fisted in his tunic shaking. 

She took a trembling breath and closed the distance between them such that her lips touched his. In truth she had never kissed or been kissed before. His lips were chapped and rough. Hers moved awkwardly over them. While pleasant, it was not the breathtaking action she had expected. 

Jaime drew back, tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. Brienne blushed and had no words to explain her actions. Jaime drew closer and kissed her again. His lips moved with more expertise, sure and soft upon hers. His tongue stroked her lips, drawing a sigh from her, and slipped within her mouth. Her breath caught in her chest and desires rose in her gut. She knew she was beet red when they finally pulled apart. 

“Gods woman.” Jaime gave a light chuckle. 

“If I have been too forward...”

#

Jaime swallowed down the laugh that wanted to burst from his lips. _Too forward? Who would think such of Brienne of Tarth?_ He managed to shake his head. “No.” He certainly couldn't keep the admiration for this woman from his eyes. Always, still, surprising him. 

Her eyes were wild, her face deeply blushed, yet she looked gorgeous. Jaime swallowed. It had been one thing when he knew she might have feelings, another now that he knew she wanted him. _Might she actually have him?_

Jaime leaned back, still on the bed. What did they do now? 

Brienne frowned and shook her head. “I could promise you not to die, Jaime, yet how can any of us really keep such a promise.” Which might be true, although Jaime knew it was more a testament to Brienne's courage in battle that she would surely risk her life again if need be. 

“Mayhaps.” Jaime crossed his arms. Brienne could not step away from this war. Even if Jaime could, he owed the realm his aid, such as it was, in its defense. “So if tomorrow may not come, what does any of the rest of it matter?” Yet, it mattered to him, and he would not take her maidenhead without vows, vows he was not worthy of giving for many reasons. He had spoken the truth, with no house and no keep, old, crippled, he was not worthy of marrying the heir to Tarth.

“You should be Lord Lannister of Casterly Rock.” She lifted her chin, regal and dignified. 

_Casterly Rock._ Jaime scoffed. He had given up such long ago, yet it had pained him to offer it in his war play to win the Reach. “I am not, and doubtful I will ever be.” Tyrion had not taken the title either, although he could have. Yet, even if Jaime survived this war, he doubted he would ever sit the lordship his father had never given up on him having. Jaime shook his head. 

“If Queen Daenarys gets her way she will break the wheel, and what will it matter who is a lord or lady.” 

Jaime kept the frown off his face at the mention of the dragon queen. He did not trust her as the madness he knew well from her father peeked through more and more. 

“I would marry you, Jaime,” Brienne whispered and blush rising again on her cheeks. 

It took his breath, that she would return his devotion. Still, he shook his head. “Marriage? What would your father think of your choice?” It was more that he was not a lord. Who would want their daughter to wed the Kingslayer?

“He long gave up such say.” Brienne shook her head and pinched together her lips. 

“You would be a wife, and a mother?” To be a lady was something Jaime knew Brienne had only recently gotten used to. Surely she knew what marriage would mean, even if Jaime would treat her as an equal. 

“Well, a wife, at the least.” Brienne frowned. Worry began to fill her eyes. 

Jaime rose to sit beside her on the bed. “Motherhood usually follows wedding vows, as least as I mean to give them to you.” A light smirk graced his lips Her checks reddened and her beautiful blue eyes dipped to study her long fingered hands. The thought of putting his children in her warmed him. How he would love to be a parent with her. 

He wrapped his remaining hand around hers. “We take it as it comes,” he said, voice soft. Tomorrow might not come, marriage may or may not happen. Brienne was correct, there may be little future for either or them, for any of them. 

Brienne rose her eyes, wide and sincere, back to his face. She nodded slowly. Jaime could not resist gracing her lips with one small kiss. Was it bad of him to hope there would be many more to whatever future they had?

**Author's Note:**

> When I did a quick look at hardlyfatal's fics realized what a fan of Sandor she seemed to be. And he kinda ended up more in this than I had planned. 
> 
> Second and final parts to come soon.


End file.
